THE DEAD GIRL
by malaya Tokoloho
Summary: A story about a gir who once had a name, on her journy to reclaim it.


Chapter 1.

The girl was standing, still as calm water, with her face toward the sea.

When the little, girl arrived at Raglan Harbor earlier on the day, she drew no special attention. people were very much used to see these kind of girls all over the most free city of all. they were little, so little, it seemed their soles tried to shrink along with their starved bodies- the only power they had had have been consumed by their runaway. Their skin was filthy and marked with reminders, and their bleeding lips were always slightly open in a pleading that will never be uttered. The worst part about them was their eyes. No one was brave enough to look in their eyes, for they were haunted and hollow, and dripping with despair - their hurtful gaze would reflect a truth that made mothers cry and men run far away.

The people were so used to seeing those wingless little birds, that none of them have thought this one was any different.

But there the girl stood, her short hair twisting in the salted air, and no one have noticed how her body stiffened at the feel of wind brought by the sea from far, far away,

No one had seen her mouth sealing itself with doubts, and no one had seen the thin piece of metal hided in her ragged clothing, to which she clanged like a drowning man holds to a steady rock.

If anyone would look in her eyes , he would have seen a strange mixture of pain, hatred and rage in them. her gaze seemed to be the same as the gaze of a wolf, wounded by men, just before it attacks.

That very gaze was aimed towards the end of the sea, where she knew another girl had once lived.

A dead girl.

She is dead.

She is dead! Thought Jon for the millionth time without very much success in believing what he knew was truth. As he walked towards the dine room, he passed, as usually, by the armory, and when he saw the small, beautiful armor, rests beneath an amazingly detailed wolf-head helmet that looked as if it was made specially for her, he had to bite his lip so very hard to avoid falling down to hes knees with paralyzing grief. He knew the armor really was made just for her, and he knew who made it too.

Gentry had arrived at the gates of winter fell as soon as the word of the starks taking their home back reached him. His arrival was the thing that really forced Jon to crawl out from behind the shield of denial, and face the truth. Gendry stepped through the gates hesitantly, but he could not hide the expectation and excitement that bubbled within him at the thought of seeing again the only person he had ever cared for, the only person who had been a family to him, the girl he had so stupidly abandoned . Jon spoke to him then. they talked more then any of them ever did. Talked about the girl they both loved more than anything. Jon had tried to delay the moment of facing with reality and forcing it on Gendry. He tried to just feel her existence through the stories both him and Gendry shared with each other, Tried to imagine what she had gone through, how it changed her. He did not want to believe the horrors Gendry described. he did not want to believe that his innocent, wild little precious sister had seen and felt such things, and all he could have done was to wish he was there to protect her, to be a shield for her so she could keep her childhood and her wild happiness. Eventually, Jon began to feel guilt and tension tightening his stomach as he saw Gentry getting more and more exited to meet her. that was the moment he had had to face it. he held Gentry's shoulders, broad smiths shoulders, which were now clenched with anticipation, and he told him- he told him what he himself could barely believe- he told him about how the hound had kidnapped her, how when he was found,half dead, all he said was- "she must be dead by now" and an uncharacteristic softness had sneaked into hes voice.

When he was finished, hes voice shaky, Gentry stared at him with disbelief. Than he stood up and held hes head in hes palms. Heart breaking screams, husky with grief, left his mouth as he stumbled backwards as if to escape the words. "no! no! no!", "not my Arya, not my Arya, please..please" Jon just sat there, acknowledging the truth for the first time. warm, big tears lest his eyes, trailing across his face and taking with them everything but grief.

They became partners to the pain. their bond had been tied up from the threads of their memories of her.

And so their life went on, but a large part of them, a hopeful, happy, loving part of them, died along with the girl they loved.

only this death was not as finale- as he grew bigger, demanding-

as if it was growing up the way she never will.


End file.
